


Never Nothing

by teasockschocolate



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Slavery, kicked puppy phillip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 01:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14606580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teasockschocolate/pseuds/teasockschocolate
Summary: Anne does not notice Phillip Carlyle.She doesn’t see the way he watches her like she’s the only one in the room, or that he taps the pocket where he keeps his flask when he’s stressed. She doesn't feel the warmth that spreads through her when he runs his hands through his hair when he’s thinking and how the same few strands at his crown stand straight up, or the way her heart quickens when he gives her that crooked grin. The fluttering in her chest when she catches his eyes on her is nothing. She feels nothing for Mr. Carlyle besides respect for him as her boss.The concentration she has spent so much time focused on not noticing him blinded her and she tugged the fabric wrapping her wrists much tighter when she heard Helen squeal Phillip's name with delight. She briefly registered that the child's greeting is not followed by her belly laughs as he twirled her around, and for a split second Anne frowned before catching herself.





	Never Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of a request sent via pm for the circus finding out about Phillip’s abusive parents. Who doesn’t love angst and some pre Anne x Phillip

Anne does not notice Phillip Carlyle.

She doesn’t see the way he watches her like she’s the only one in the room, or that he taps the pocket where he keeps his flask when he’s stressed. She doesn't feel the warmth that spreads through her when he runs his hands through his hair when he’s thinking and how the same few strands at his crown stand straight up, or the way her heart quickens when he gives her that crooked grin. The fluttering in her chest when she catches his eyes on her is nothing. She feels nothing for Mr. Carlyle besides respect for him as her boss.

The concentration she has spent so much time focused on not noticing him blinded her and she tugged the fabric wrapping her wrists much tighter when she heard Helen squeal Phillip's name with delight. She briefly registered that the child's greeting is not followed by her belly laughs as he twirled her around, and for a split second Anne frowned before catching herself. 

She remained firmly avoidant of him and is rather pleased when she realized she hadn't thought of him for the entirety of her and W.D.'s rehearsal. Her luck could only last so long, as she turned the corner to the dressing room to find his back a few feet away from her.

"Phillip," Charity Barnum stood in front of him, a concerned line etched in her forehead.

"I told you that it's nothing, Mrs. Barnum."

Anne bit her lip at the iciness of his tone. 

"The girls would love to see you."

"Another day. I promise." His shoulders sagged and his hand came up to his temple. 

Charity reached an arm out and Phillip's neck tensed; Charity seemed to notice and quickly dropped her arm. 

"Are you sure there's nothing I can do, dear?"

"No, thank you." Phillip spun on his heel, freezing at the sight of Anne in the threshold. 

Her breath hitched, catching sight of him fully for the first time that day. A nasty bruise had formed on the left side of his face, stretching from his jaw to his hairline; a deep purple mark centered on his cheekbone. His lip was split and his eyes were sunken.

"Phillip..." Anne breathed.

"Excuse me, Miss Wheeler," He mumbled, gently pushing past her.

* * *

“Something’s off with Carlyle. Did you guys see?” Sylvia asked as the girls get ready for the show.

“He’s so tightly wound, he probably just snapped.” Lettie shrugged, combing out her beard.

“Didn’t you see his face?” Sylvia’s eyes were wide and she set down her makeup brush. “He looks like he got beat up.”

“He didn't play with the girls either.” Celeste added thoughtfully.

"What do you think happened?"

"Well, someone punched him."

"But who?"

"Maybe--"

"Oh, don't just start guessing." Anne rolled her eyes.

Lettie bit her lip. “Did he say anything to you, Anne?”

“No. Why would he?” Anne snapped back quickly and the other girls stifled laughs as Anne blushed. “Shut up.”

“Well, maybe he’d tell you if you mentioned it.” Lettie suggested, the only one ever brave enough to probe at the feelings of her friend and the ringmaster.

"He practically ran when I saw him."

"Well, find a place he can't run." 

"I can't just corner him, Lettie."

"Just try."

“I don’t see why.” Anne said, applying blush with more aggressive strokes than normal.

“He talks to you more than us. Just go for us.” Sylvia smirked.

Anne rolled her eyes. “Fine. Only to stop you all”

She hopped down from her stool and stepped out of the dressing room, shooting the girls a glare before closing the door and heading to Phillip’s office.

* * *

 

She knocked on the door hesitantly and a quick “Come in,” answered her. She stepped in carefully and saw him shuffling papers, half his costume on. His shirt hung unbuttoned and she forced herself to look anywhere besides his bare chest.

Her heart warmed at the way his eyes soften when they met hers and he said her name with a smile. She quickly pushed the flutter in her chest away. She came on business. The other girls sent her. That’s all. Not because she’s worried about him. She isn’t.

“Sylvia and Lettie and some of the others were wondering if you’re okay. They sent me to ask.” Anne said curtly.

“Oh.” His eyes fell from hers and returned to his desk. “I’m fine, thank you.” He went to pull on his ringmaster coat and tried to repress a hiss of pain that escapes him.

Anne’s eyebrows furrow.

“Tight muscles.” He brushed off her curious look and pulled on his coat.

“Phillip…” Anne tentatively walked closer to him. She gently pulled off the coat and touched his right wrist. His jaw clenched and she rolled up his sleeve as carefully as she can. She inhaled sharply. “Phillip,” Four small bruises have formed on his wrist. She moved to the other wrist and he doesn’t stop her. A weight drops in her stomach when she finds identical bruises.

“Just a bar fight.” He said quietly, trying to move away from her. His shirt fell open again and something new caught her eye. Not letting him go, she pushed his shirt back and instantly felt sick. At least a dozen scars decorated his body, different sizes and depths.

She raised her face to his and he seemed determined not to look at her. His eyes stare at the floor, seeming he wished nothing more than for the ground to swallow him up. “Who did this?” She tried to force her voice to stay neutral.

He remained silent.

“Did the same person do all this?”

She moved to inspect his scars again and he pushed her away suddenly. “Don’t.” His voice was cold and she froze. “I’m sorry.” He muttered.

“Phillip,” She kept her voice soft and gentle, like she had when she’d tried to soothe a startled elephant the day before. “What happened?”

“My parents.” He mumbled, keeping his eyes on the floor.

Her heart dropped to her stomach and everything was clearer to her. The resentment to his family name. The way he dropped her hand when his parents looked at him.  His dependency to his flask. The way he moved slightly in front of her, as if to shield her, when they met his parents at the theater. The way he melted into Charity and Barnum’s embraces and played with the girls like they were his sisters.

“How long?” She sat herself on his desk.

Phillip raised his eyes to her and her heart lurches as she sees them swim with tears. “As long as I can remember. Every time I did something that could hurt their reputation.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“No,” He sighed and sat back in his own chair. “I don’t want them to.”

“No one would judge you, you know.” Anne said. “We all have something messed up. That's why we're here.”

“You’re perfect.” He mumbled, dropping his gaze again.

She didn't know why she did it. She and W.D. had never told anyone. The other girls must suspect something, but none ever questioned her.

She dropped to the floor, takes Phillip’s hand in hers, and guided it up the back of her shirt to the raised scars on her back.

His jaw slackened. "Is that..."

"Whip." She dropped her own hand but let his stay there. “Everyone’s got their scars, Phillip.” She said softly. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It makes you who you are.”

He removed his hand and she instantly wished he hadn’t. Despite the circumstances, the chill she got from his hand on her skin made her wish he never let go.

“So,” Anne caught his hand as he dropped it and held it. “Do you want to tell me what happened earlier?”

He sighed and squeezed her hand. “I met my parents in the street. They wanted me to come back. I didn’t. My father… didn’t like that.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she just pressed a light kiss on his knuckles. Her heart ached at how familiar and easy if feels to be with him like this.

“I wish I didn’t care what they thought. I wish I could just push it away and be happy here. But I can’t. It’s always there.” A tear slipped down his face and her heart broke for the millionth time that night.

“I know,” She whispered, wiping his tears with the pad of her thumb. “I know.” That voice in the back of her head of other people’s opinions was keeping her away from him. He seems to catch her meaning behind her words and sighs.

“We’re a mess, Anne.”

She chuckled. “That we are.”

“How am I going to do a show with this black eye?”

Anne bit her lip and smiled. “I’ll be right back.” She carefully slipped her hand out of his and rushed back to the dressing room. She ignored the other girls looks as she grabbed her makeup case and headed back to his office.

“Stay still.” She put her case on his desk and leans on the end of it. She applied powder as lightly as she could, carefully painting his face until his bruise is barely visible. She was suddenly very aware of how close her face is to his and her eye’s flitted down to his lips. She’s not sure she’s ever wanted anything more than she wants to kiss him in that instant. But she can’t.

Anne cleared her throat and pulled back quickly. “There you go. You’re all set.” She put the makeup away and stepped back.

“Um, thanks,” He stood up and coughed awkwardly. “For this and…”

“Anytime.” She said breathlessly.

He smiled that crooked grin that made her heart skip a beat. “Well, we’ve got a show to get ready for.”

“Right,” Anne stepped back, and closed her hand around the doorknob.

“Anne,” His voice stopped her. “Could you… not say anything. I’m just… not ready.”

“Of course.” She flashed him a smile, her hand still on the door. “Break a leg.”

“You too,” He winked and pulled on his coat again, more carefully this time.

She flew back to the dressing room, having missed quite a lot of time and wrapped her hair tightly to put her wig on.

“Well?” Sylvia leaned against her vanity.

“He’ll be fine.” Anne pulled her wig on and got up to get her costume on.

“He looked awful.” Sylvia said, carefully pressing for more information.

“He’ll be fine.” Anne repeated.

“Oh, don’t give us that!” Celeste cried. “What happened between you two?”

Anne rolled her eyes as she pulled on her costume. “Nothing.”

“Oh please,” Lettie scoffed. “It’s never nothing with you two.”

“Nothing happened. Really.” Anne shrugged. “It can’t, anyway.”

“Sure it can!” Sylvia insisted.

Anne smiled sadly and shook her head. “Come on, we have to go do a show.”

She watched him carefully throughout the show, looking for any signs of more injuries, but he seemed fine. When he took her hand at the end of the show, he squeezed it tightly, and she squeezed back, clinging to the few seconds she had with him before the rest of the world came crashing down.


End file.
